


Imaginary Circumstances?

by Elsinore_and_Inverness



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Acting, Assassining (definitely a real verb), Discussion of Violence, Doppelganger, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28173321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsinore_and_Inverness/pseuds/Elsinore_and_Inverness
Summary: “What should I do if I am attacked?” Charlie asked, as that had been the purpose of the meeting.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Imaginary Circumstances?

“Charles, you are aware of the risks you are taking on in proceeding with this, yes?” It was odd, watching the tall, thin actor who had the same bone structure, hair and beard of the same style, the same blue eyes with broken veins at the corners, the same creases that seemed to denote vague skepticism, yet somehow nothing at all like looking in the mirror.

“It’s Charlie, actually. I believe I am.” The actor’s left hand fluttered. It could almost have been a stagey affection, but— Vetinari copied the movement, feeling the temperature and direction of the air currents in the room. The windows did not seal very well. They sat awkwardly in their frames, the wood warped by two hundred winters. Still, if you were going to be assassinated, it was nice to know that you wouldn’t be leaving the office covered in broken glass.

“There isn’t a sword in there, is there?”

Charlie smiled and wrapped his fingers more securely around the skull on top of the cane. “Carrying a sword is not a risk I am taking on.”

“I’m sure my secretary appreciates it.”

Charlie wilted, sinking into a full-body impression of a dying flower that Vetinari had actually only seen from some of the best tragic actors while they were not on stage.

“That was a little bit of a joke.”

“He asked me to stop apologizing.”

Vetinari winced inwardly. He could imagine what it would feel like to listen to someone repeatedly apologizing for, in Drumknott’s case, the reason he had a handedness. “It isn’t bad advice.”

“What should I do if I am attacked?” Charlie asked, as that had been the purpose of the meeting.

“What _you should_ do is run away,” Vetinari said, emphasizing each of the italicized words individually. “Provided that someone who appears to be myself is not making an attempt on his life Drumknott has on a number of occasions proved more than capable of dealing with these situations himself.” Vetinari now stood in front of Charlie. Though they were exactly the same height, the Patrician was accomplished at looming.“But let me see your hand,” he said, acquiescent.

Charlie, somewhat clumsily, because he wasn’t acting and was trying to figure out what Vetinari wanted him to do, propped his own cane against the desk and held out his right hand. Vetinari lined up their fingers like he was pressing his hand to the glass of a mirror. They could have been the cold, dry hands of one body, with a half-dozen small cuts of unknown provenance across the fingers and knuckles. Then he wrapped his hand around the back of Charlie’s and this did answer the question as to whether his own hands felt as unalive as he suspected they did. Charlie watched with some apprehension as the ruler of the city slowly bent his wrist until fingertip touched forearm.

“Does that hurt?”

“A little.”

Vetinari let go of his hand. “Sorry. I was curious.” He shook his head. “If it comes down to it, don’t punch. We have mechanical advantage with an open hand slap. Like a whip... to the throat, you could rupture a trachea. Not a pretty way to kill someone. Likewise, I am sure you can imagine how much force you can get from a lump of metal at a hundred and ten miles an hour. It has style, yes, but it is not pretty.”

Charlie’s curiousity got the better of him. He had expected to spend his life variably failing to sell spools of thread and drinking away whatever income he was able to come by, but now he had eight point five pages of script he was writing and was being instructed by a former Assassin. “What are pretty ways to kill someone?”

“Playwrights hardly ever specify poisons. The prettiness of anything else is down to your props designer and choreographer.” Charlie had practiced the way Vetinari moved his eyelids to make his eyes look like pieces of broken glass to be avoided and the Patrician did it now. “As for elegant inhumation, pray you never need to know.” He turned away and walked toward the window. “Good luck. I wish you all the best.”


End file.
